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β
β πππππππ.
γ Ι’α΄α΄
α΄
α΄ss α΄κ° α΄α΄α΄’α΄s α΄Ι΄α΄
α΄α΄α΄Κs γ
α΄Κα΄α΄Ι’Κ α΄Κα΄ α΄ΙͺΙ΄α΄
ΚΙͺα΄α΄ α΄Ι΄ α΄Κsα΄α΄Κ.
Κα΄Κα΄Κs α΄Ι΄ α΄Ι΄α΄
α΄Ι΄,
α΄ Ι’Κα΄ΙͺΙ΄ α΄κ° sα΄Ι΄α΄
Ιͺs α΄ΚΚ α΄‘α΄ Κα΄α΄ α΄.
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Truth be told, Ariadne cannot wait to see the huntress radiate in her domain. Being invited to see her at her most natural is an honour she has only ever experienced when Dionysus first quenched her thirst with an ever-growing field of grapes on Naxos. β
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I expect it to be similar for you and the woods β but yes. Letβs not digress and focus on the task at hand. β
Ariadne takes one of the arrows. She shudders, intimidated by the sharp point of it. She has never been a fighter; never learn to wield weapons. β
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Curious, Ariadne leans forward to watch the goddessesβ meticulous work. Her hands are skilled, but not merely in the way a deity is skilled in their domain. Bow and arrow, the hunt, all of these things belong to Artemis like trees belong into the woods. β
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ever suffer from use? β Cracks in her skin. She wants to remember her hardships for the future, have salves and ointments wait should Artemis decide to visit her again.
Reaching for the patched-up bow, her fingers trace the neat leather. It feels rough, supportive. β
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β Fake ones? β She pretends to ponder, then lifts her shoulders in a teasing shrug. β I will beat you with a stick or a real weapon. Youβll see. β
Itβs a blatant lie and they both know it.
β Ready? β
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Presses a kiss to his forehead.
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β β Nibbles on @aricdne's wrist. π
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The tease in Artemisβ voice plays at the corners of Ariadneβs mouth. How long has it been since she allowed herself to feel such joy in the presence of another woman?
Maenads. They are the only familiar company to her, and yet their presence have always reminded her thatβ
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quick steps carrying her to Artemisβ side.
β Will you show me how to string a bow? I borrowed one from a mortal who did not seem to care for its condition. β Hands unfurl from behind her back to lift a sad looking bow. β
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